


we are the lions

by turnpikedarling



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:33:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnpikedarling/pseuds/turnpikedarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I think she’s going to be fine,” Boyd says abruptly, turning to Cora, and it turns out that maybe he cares a little bit about what Lydia said about handling werewolves after all. So sue him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are the lions

**Author's Note:**

> I AM AGGRESSIVELY IGNORING THE END OF 3x07, "CURRENTS." THIS IS AN ALTERNATE REALITY WHERE THE FIGHT STILL HAPPENED BUT NOBODY AT ALL DIES AND BOYD AND LYDIA BANG AND ARE HAPPY OR SOMETHING. I don't know. There's porn, there's happiness, everyone's alive. This is how I cope.
> 
> It is also unbetad. Unbetaed? Unbeta-d? Whatever. APOLOGIES!
> 
> Title is from that Fall Out Boy song "Young Volcanoes" that is catchy as fuck, and you can find me on Tumblr [here!](http://www.turnpikedarling.tumblr.com)

 

“Jesus, she’s annoying,” Cora whines, rolling her eyes in Lydia’s direction. They’re sitting in the cafeteria two days after the alphas attacked; they cut the power and currents through the water, Derek and Kali fought. All the betas stood and watched until Boyd threatened one of the twins and Isaac got Jennifer the hell out of dodge and Kali walked away with deep gashes down her face, Derek’s shoulder falling out of its socket, dragging toward the floor in a fit of giving up, but they’d made it. For some godforsaken, unknown reason, Deucalion called them off and they’d all lived another day. 

Boyd makes a noncommittal sound, but Cora takes it as agreement and barrels right on despite the fact that Boyd is obviously more interested in the comic book in front of him than the conversation she’s trying to have.

“You know I talked to her at school the other day? Before everything?” Cora asks, and Boyd exhales in her direction. He slowly puts down the issue of Green Lantern he’s got his fingers curled around and looks pointedly up at her, but he still doesn’t speak.

“She was making out with that asshole alpha in the janitor’s closet again, or something. Which twin is she fucking?”

Boyd shrugs. “Ethan, maybe?”

“No, it’s the other one. Aiden,” Cora snaps. “Whatever. Do you know what she said to me when I told her to stop messing around with him?”

Boyd looks at her with blank eyes. He loves Cora - he knows her, at least, too much time in a dark, damp bank vault, too much time with her blank, staring eyes, too much time with her secrets - but he could literally not care less about this shit or what Lydia Martin might have said after Cora caught her with her hand down some dude’s pants.

“She said - get this - she said, ‘My last boyfriend was a homicidal lizard, so I think I can handle a werewolf.’”

Boyd turns down the corners of his mouth in a sudden, thoughtful frown. “Huh.”

“‘ _So I think I can handle a werewolf_ ,’” Cora mocks. “She has no idea what she’s doing,” she adds, looking at Boyd. “She has no fucking idea what she’s doing.”

“Huh,” Boyd says again, glancing over at Lydia. She’s laughing at Allison, red hair tumbling down her shoulder and red lips parted around her teeth, sweet pink tongue slipping in and out of her mouth as she catches her breath. She brushes her fingertips against her cheek, smoothes them lightly along the bone there, a faded rouge following the touch as it goes. Boyd notices the pale freckles down her neck, an open expanse of flesh she thumbs as she turns and meets his eyes. She flicks her nails over her pulse and blinks slowly at him when she catches him staring.

“I think she’s going to be fine,” he says abruptly, turning to Cora, and it turns out that maybe he cares a little bit about what she said about handling werewolves after all. So sue him.

///

When his physics class gets out, two periods after lunch, Boyd heads to his locker and finds Lydia there. She’s leaning against it, the hem of her skirt falling away from her body and skimming along the metal as she taps her fingers on her folded arms. She shifts her weight when she sees him coming, jutting out a hip at him as he sidles up.

“Hi,” he says, motioning her away from his locker so he can get inside it. She doesn’t move.

“You were staring at me at lunch,” Lydia says, and Boyd can tell that it’s not a question, so he opts for the honest answer.

“Yes,” is all he tells her. He thinks he handles it pretty well, but he knows better than to feel safe when she smiles up at him.

“Did you like what you saw?” Lydia asks, a calculating grin spreading through her mouth. Boyd watches as it widens, fixes on him, and he thinks he sees some real kindness in it, some searching thought, a need for his approval that he’s clearly not desperate to give. Or maybe he is, and that’s exactly why she’s here.

“Yes,” Boyd answers her again, a short nod and a light shove on her shoulder to go with it. He moves her from the door of his locker, jimmies it open and slides in front of it as she takes a step back.

He feels a touch at his elbow and she skims her fingers along his arm, stepping closer against his back as she speaks.

“You don’t have many friends, do you?”

He leans back into her, looms his body over her frame as he pauses there like that, her hand supporting so much of the weight of him before he rights himself and grabs his US History textbook. 

“No,” Boyd confirms, and Lydia squeezes his elbow. He imagines her considering her next question, can’t see her face, thinks of it softly, pursed lips as she exhales toward him, a shining, warm glint in her eye. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Do you want one?” Boyd feels her fingers drop off, cut contact, a sudden absence of something he’s just learning to want.

“No,” he says for a second time, shutting his locker. He doesn’t turn to look her in the eye, just stands with his back to her, breathing steady as he can.

He feels her lips graze over the back of his neck, imagines her standing straight up on her toes, craning for a good angle. Her tongue drags toward his shoulder, warm heat and a wet line of promise. 

“Me either,” she murmurs, and leaves him there alone.

///

“What are you studying?” Lydia asks, dropping herself primly into the armchair next to Boyd in the library.

Cora looks up from her seat and shoots a look of disgust over the edge of her book, some tragic novel she’s reading for AP English. Lydia ignores her, and Boyd watches as she turns and focuses her eyes directly on him. 

He holds up his Calculus textbook and she takes it from him, skimming the inside cover for the names of its previous owners. Boyd sees her finger drag down the list and stop on the last name, tapping it twice before she turns the book back toward him.

“This was mine last year,” she tells him, and from somewhere to Boyd’s right, Cora makes a sound of disgust in the back of her throat.

“You took Calculus last year?” Boyd asks her, and she nods. “You were a sophomore,” he says, and she nods again.

He doesn’t have anything else to say, so the silence stretches on between them. The library clock ticks and ticks and Lydia sits across from him, studying his face, leaning in every time she finds something new to mull over. Eventually Cora gets up and leaves. Boyd raises a hand to her as she goes, says, “I’ll see you back at the loft,” and lets the words follow her out the door.

When Cora’s out of earshot, even though Boyd bets that she knows better, Lydia spits, “Thank god,” and settles into the seat there.

“What are you doing?” Boyd asks her, shifting his legs up into themselves. He catches himself getting smaller, curling in, and he stops it and plants his feet on the ground again, a solid, steady form.

Lydia stretches her ankle out toward him, rubbing it against the leg of his chair. She tilts her toes toward him and smiles, languid and what Boyd wants.

"I'm helping you study," she answers. "Remember? I've done this before."

Boyd doesn't think she's talking about Calculus anymore, but he opens his book to a random page and points to an equation he's never seen before. 

Lydia takes the book from him and works her pen over it, leaving notes right on the page, and Boyd watches as she curls her tongue out of her mouth, swirling it around the tip of the pen when she's lost in thought.

"Easy,” she presents to him, the answer circled neatly.

“I’ve been working on that for a week,” he lies, and she shakes her head.

“No you haven’t,” Lydia says. “You’re smarter than that.”

Boyd looks at her and tilts his head, trying to piece together anything at all about the feeling knotting in his stomach, an easy tightness he feels about Lydia, and as he lands on the fact that maybe it’s a need, she stands and leaves him there, alone with his books. 

He thinks he might start to hate her absence if she keeps walking away like that, so he gets up and follows her out.

///

Lydia is nowhere to be found when he hits the parking lot, but Cora is unlocking her car and waves him over, keys dangling in her hand as she asks him, “You want a ride?”

He kicks a rock under her car and she rolls her eyes, and he thinks that if he never sees another member of the Hale family do that particular act of passive aggression again, it will be a day too soon.

“I’ll walk,” he tells her through her weak protests, and he takes off on foot down the road. 

Cora pulls up to him one last time a minute later, rolling her window down and trying to get him to _hop in the car, we’re both going to the loft anyway, it would make so much more sense_ , but Boyd waves her on and she speeds off.

He walks alone for a few minutes. It’s the easiest walk he ever has to do even though it’s the longest, from school to the loft, and he walks it like his feet carved out the path themselves. Boyd is used to the silence, a heavy weight on his shoulders that’s become what keeps him nailed into the ground, the slow reorientation his head still needs after a day of high school and its noises, its smells. He lets his claws out and bunches them in his hands, digging into the skin for a second before pulling back. He hears a car pull up next to him and slow, coming to a steady roll beside him. He doesn’t stop walking.

The window closest to him rolls down and he sees Lydia duck to get her face where he can see it, blinking up at him from the driver’s seat.

“Are you coming?” she asks, and Boyd stops his feet. 

Lydia pops open the passenger door from the inside and he pauses for a second before throwing his backpack in the back seat.

When he’s inside, the door firmly locked and her hand on the gear shift, he turns to look at her. Her red lips are parted again, a question as they work around her teeth, her smile fixing on him as he speaks.

“I don’t want to go home,” Boyd tells her.

“Me either,” she says, and she drives, and he isn’t alone.

///

“I thought you weren’t looking for a friend,” Lydia says, and she smiles at him, soft and sure, and puts her hand on his knee. She slides it up to his thigh, digs her nails in for some reaction. Boyd’s breath stays steady and calm, but he’s glad she can’t hear his heartbeat jump. He reaches up to her hair and brings a handful of red toward him, letting it fall over his wrist before he wraps it through his fingers.

“I’m not,” he says, and he pulls.

///

They fuck in the backseat of her car.

Lydia pulls over on the edge of the reserve and shoves Boyd back, through the space in between the front seats and into the one behind them, and he lands on his ass with his legs splayed out in front of her. He lets himself be pushed, lets her hand on his chest be enough to coax him down into the seat. He can feel her heart race as she climbs through after him, hiking her skirt up around her waist as she goes.

She settles her legs across his lap and he stares at her as she straddles him, stays pushed up on her knees for leverage as she leans down to kiss him.

Boyd gets a hand in her hair again and tugs. Their mouths crash together, too hard, and she smiles against his teeth as she grabs at his bottom lip with hers, sliding their tongues over each other in a messy and desperate plea. He follows her lead, patient and wanting, and he’s not alone.

Lydia reaches for his one of his wrists and shoves his sleeve up, baring his forearm and pulling it to her. Boyd watches her, a determined, bright look on her face, and he feels her slide his fingers into her underwear as she sighs. He sucks in a breath, sticky slickness sliding over his knuckles, and circles fast around her clit to watch her smirk.

“I’m helping you study,” Boyd echoes their conversation from earlier, all other words shot out of his mind. “Remember? I’ve done this before.” 

Lydia grins down at him and rocks her hips, and he barely waits a second before slipping a finger inside her, wet heat and all lubed up.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and she rocks again.

“More,” she says, and fucks down onto his hand when he adds another and another, waiting before each one for her to breathe.

Boyd starts a rhythm, slow, and watches as she braces herself on the headrests of the seats on either side of her, arms spread open and chest rising and falling with every thrust of his hand into her. She just rocks like that, back and forth on his fingers, until he splays them out inside her and she shudders, rocking harder and leaning forward to grab him in a kiss. 

Lydia hums into his mouth and claws her nails at the back of her neck, and he twists his hand and she comes all over him, fingers sliding in and out of her as he fucks her through the waves.

She buries her face in his neck and presses a kiss there, just her lips against his pulse, her tongue darting over the vein there, and he wonders if she understands how vulnerable that feels, how biting means something different to him still, how it’s the only thing up until now that’s ever showed him he wasn’t alone.

“Do you have a condom?” she murmurs against his skin. He nods and she reaches for his bag and he splays his free hand over the small of her back to steady her. The other one is still inside of her, covered in her, teasing her open again as she moves.

“You’re going to have to move that,” Lydia says as she turns back to him, triumphantly holding up the found condom. She clenches around his fingers and he exhales hard, pulls them out as slowly as he can, and she lifts off of him before she scrabbles her hand at his belt, trying to undo the clasp.

“Here,” Boyd tells her, lifting his hips as far as he can. “Easier,” he says, and he hooks his thumbs in the sides of his jeans and slides them down past his waist, pulls his boxers with them.

“Impressive,” she tells him, half joking and half lovely. 

He’s already hard, had been pressing against his pants that whole time, a chore not to reach down and touch himself instead of working through her hair, so she carefully tears open the foil and pinches the tip and rolls the condom right on, easy work.

“Fuck,” he breathes again, all he can manage.

“Agreed,” she says, and she lowers herself onto his cock. She goes slow, and he tries not to push up too fast, but in the end he slams their hips together and presses his mouth to hers to keep from crying out.

Boyd lets her set the pace because he can’t thrust up far in the backseat of her Toyota, has his hips trapped and shallow moving into her. Lydia grinds down onto him, palms pressing flat to the ceiling of the car, and if Boyd weren’t so lost in the wet slide of her body over his he might have sworn that she was trying to get him to cry.

She rocks onto him hard, a fast pace, fucks down onto his dick with every push of her knees and grind of her hips, and he feels full, feels buried to the hilt, feels like he’s going to shake apart inside of her and never be alone again, be happy, be finally the other half of someone else. Lydia leans forward and puts her palm on his cheek, traces her thumb over his nose and eyebrows as she rolls her hips again and again.

“Touch me,” she whispers against his jaw, and his arm moves like lightning, thumb finding frantic circles around her clit as the pressure wells in his belly, as he gets tighter and more loose all at once.

“I’m gonna come,” he spits out, and she says, “I know,” and Boyd loses it. He loses it inside her, comes in her as she fucks him through it, lets his fingers go slack and feels her push down onto them herself to get the job done, feels her come on his dick a minute later. She tightens around him and he lets the aftershocks rip through him, palms a hand to her belly as she shakes.

“Fuck,” he hisses, watching her fall apart a second time. Her hair tumbles onto his shoulder and he buries his face in it, lets it all surround him, smells Lydia at every turn. He wraps it over his fingers and pulls again, gets her head in the crook of his neck, and he feels her smile against his skin as he twirls strands of her hair and rubs her back.

They sit like that for a minute before she makes noises about her back cramping, and she pulls off of him. He’s soft, now, the soft pop they make as they pull apart the only indication that they’d ever been one, and she braces himself on his chest before she settles against his side.

Boyd drops a small kiss to the top of her head and then stills. His pants are still down around his thighs, her skirt around her waist and underwear pulled over, barely sitting right, and breathes as steady as he can as she leans her head on his shoulder, drumming her fingers on his heart.

After awhile, they both get restless, and she leans up to kiss him again.

When they break apart, he chases her mouth, and he whispers, smart, “I thought you weren’t looking for a friend,” and she smiles and says, “But we both found one,” and he grins into her kiss as they tangle together again, and neither of them are alone, and for now, neither of them want to be either.


End file.
